She walked a bit faster, her gut protesting. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a man approaching… no, a woman. Her features held a softness about them, framed by buzzed black hair. Flat chested and tall, she had tattoos all over neck and hands. Who is that? The woman suddenly pulled a black mask down over her face.
No, no, no!!!
“HEY!” the woman screamed out.
English sprinted across the lot, her briefcase, backpack, and body swinging as she gasped for air with each dash. Air whizzed past her ears, mingling with the sounds of Juice Newton’s, ‘Angel of the Morning,’ from a passing truck.
“Hey, baby! Stop walkin’!” someone called out. She didn’t slow down to find out who.
Of all of the days for me to purposefully park far in order to get some more steps in! God, please let me survive this! I know I don’t go to church anymore, but I am begging you!
Something told her to turn around—a voice without words, yet she knew what it meant. Slowing down, she looked back to see the woman pull out a gun and aim it somewhere to her right. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Instincts and adrenaline kicked in, heart pumping hard, silent prayers and loud screams taking over. A few people also screamed as they watched the scene unfold. Her chest throbbed with a pain that wouldn’t settle. I’m almost to my car… almost there…
Then, a man stepped out from the back seat of the vehicle, someone she didn’t recognize. He started to run in the direction of her car…
Oh, God. He’s going to make it there before I do!
English dropped to the ground as gunfire rang out. Scrambling about on the concrete, she dug into her bag, her trembling hand grasping cold metal. She checked the chamber and wrapped her finger around the trigger, then rose up just a little to see if anyone was coming.
“STAY DOWN!” the woman yelled as she thundered right past her.
Shrieking. Shouting. More gunfire. Car doors opening and closing. The squeal of tires peeling out…
Footsteps came fast towards her.
“BY GOD I WILL BLOW A MOTHERFUCKIN’ HOLE IN YOU!” English jumped to her feet, covered in sweat, shakily holding her gun in front of her. She aimed it at the woman who was now standing there before her, her mask still on, her chest rising and falling hard with exertion.
She ran past me. Told me to stay down.
English looked beyond the woman and noticed a smattering of broken glass ahead. The Land Rover was gone.
“English, hey, I’m Channey Hernandez. First of all, the police have already been notified about this situation. Thankfully, no one was hurt. They are looking for the vehicle that man exited from. I’ve taken care of that. Now, I know you want to know why I’m here and what this is about. Do you know Legend Vidal?”
“No… but I know his sister, Melanie.”
The woman nodded in understanding. She slipped her gun back into her side holster and slid her mask off, jamming it in her back pocket.
“Axel Hendrix asked Legend to hire me. I’m not cheap.”
English couldn’t believe her ears. But on second thought…
“Axel sent you? Why?”
“The police didn’t do anything to help you, from my understanding, so here I am.” The woman threw her hands in the air, then ran her hand over her buzzcut hair. “I work for a protection agency. That’s just a fancy way to say bodyguards, so Axel figured I’d be good for the job.”
“Channey, you said your name was?”
“Mmm hmm.” The woman put her hands on her waist.
“What is going on here? Job? What job? First, you are running towards me with a ski mask and gun. Then, some weirdo gets out of a car and races towards mine. I hear gunshots and yelling all around me, and when I get back on my feet, you’re standin’ there with a smoking gun, telling me you were hired by my boyfriend’s best friend.”
“Lady, the small details mean nothin’ right now. Do you know that your ex-boyfriend killed someone before?” The woman’s brow shot up, an almost smug certainty on her face.
“…No.”
“He’s responsible for this situation. I’m sure you already figured that out though. Master Whitefield. Cult leader. Many aliases such as Master Lord. Black Jesus. Sampson.” She laughed mirthlessly. “He wasn’t charged or convicted, but he did it. Some woman from his little group. The streets talk, English. You’re not safe until he’s gone because he wants you. Dead or alive.”
A burning sensation filled her. “But why would—”
“Axel wanted someone to make sure you stayed alive,” she cut her off.
“Do you work for the police?”
“Nah. I report to the police when things like this happen, but I don’t work for them. I’ve been to prison. I’m a reformed criminal, if you will. The police know who I am, and they know the company I work for. They knew me when I was out in the streets sellin’, and they know me now.”